Seven Steps
by Mana Angel
Summary: So Numair is now apparently dead, and Rikash is now apparently human. Daine, frankly, has no idea what she's done to deserve this. AU!Ending to ROTG. WIP. :D
1. Chapter 1: The End

Massively, massively AU. Assume that events are as book-canon up until Daine's final fight with Ozorne, but that she does not chase after Numair; instead, she returns to where Rikash has died. :D It's complete crack, really. The first chapter skips around events quite a bit because it was originally sketched out as a series of lines off the top of my head; in short, it's nothing but a set-up for more stories that follow along the premise of the fic. 

Strong, strong suspension of disbelief at points is heartily recommended. It's been a _very_ long time since I've perused these books.

In any case, without further ado:

**Seven Steps**  
_by Mana Angel_

**Chapter the First: The End**

The girl doesn't realize she's fallen unconscious until she blinks awake, managing to stagger to her feet after a few nauseous minutes where her center of gravity flatly refuses to establish itself. Not much time has passed, if the sun's position is any guess, but on a battlefield, a few minutes could mean everything.

Her left arm feels broken in two places, and she's sure her ribs are bruised, if not cracked. But then, she has won; _they_ have won, but the taste of victory is sour in Daine's throat, a fine wine gone rank with the memory of all that has been lost. Ozorne's body is little more than a crumpled shell now, but that is not her concern. There's not enough left of him even worth kicking as a last act of spite, however much she might wish otherwise. Why waste anger on those that couldn't answer back?

Daine doesn't even have it in her to shapeshift a last time, hasn't had it in her for the past half-hour, but her sense of direction hasn't betrayed her yet, and she's got a reasonable idea of where she'd left the rest of her friends.

_(An image flashes across her vision painfully-- shattered form, lank blond hair, shining steel--)_

She feels a shudder ripple through her, before she forcefully stomps it down. This is _not_ the time for a breakdown, and she'll be damned if she lets carelessness kill her now after all she's done. Come on, Sarrasri, she coaxes herself, eyes burning both with exhaustion and a steely determination, don't shame your ma's name now.

_Walk._

The badger's claw gripped in her right hand, Daine begins to make her painful way back home.

* * *

Barzha and Hebakh's dirge halts suddenly, near the end of the battle, but what is left of Raoul's army is too occupied with rounding up the last of Uusoae's creatures to notice, and the one being who would have a care is far and away from earshot, hurtling after the enemy she had believed the Stormwings could destroy. 

Once, the queen had thought they could too, but they'd made the mistake of underestimating Ozorne -- just as he'd underestimated them, which was a grim irony even she could find the humor in.

Their dirge halts because beyond hope, beyond expectation, there is no longer reason to mourn.

There is, however, reason to worry.

Around his body, Rikash's feathers bend and droop, in a way that nothing of metal should, and they shiver, stirred by a strange wind that neither the queen nor her consort can feel. The feathers make no sound as they suddenly liquefy, slipping down to reveal remarkably human flesh where steel had once grown from. Bone shifts under skin when the fall of cascading silver reaches his hips, and long, lean legs are revealed in its wake.

Daine returns to the rock, naked and bruised, to find an equally naked and alarmingly _human_ Rikash slumped in a pool of glittering mercury.

She's too tired to do anything but stare, and Barzha calls her name three times before the queen gives up and flutters off the rock to hover in front of Daine's face. Hebakh is a silent, reeking shadow behind his queen, and their combined stench prompts the girl to reel back, shaking her out of her stupor. She lifts a suddenly heavy head to glance at Barzha's pinched face, and lets it drop back again to eye the dirtstreaked blond crumpled on the ground before her.

The question to ask is obvious, and it feels like it takes all of her remaining effort to say it. Her tongue and jaws move slowly, just a little out of sync, and her words slur. "What happened?"

The Stormwing queen is grim. "That is a question I was hoping _you_ might have the answer to."

It's late and Daine's tired, and this is really, really the last thing she needs, but it doesn't look like there will be anyone around here to help her out particularly soon. Not that Barzha and Hebakh are useless, exactly, but without some kind of harness, the Stormwings will just be absolutely _no help_ in trying to get Rikash around anywhere. If they were strong enough to carry someone as heavy and tall as Numair, they're certainly strong enough to carry someone as frail as Rikash is now _(though she suspects he's always been this thin, even as a Stormwing, and she could almost kick herself for not noticing before. After all, steel or not, feathers were feathers, and she should have _known_ the signs of a creature eating far too little)_.

Daine's almost frustrated enough to cry, but that's an indulgence she won't allow herself. Barzha seems to understand her dilemma, and suddenly flutters close, brushing a wingtip against Daine's face. Something electric passes from the metal to the girl's cheek, and she jerks involuntarily, cutting herself on a feather's edge. Hissing in brief, renewed pain-- though why a tiny cut like this should bother her when her whole body feels like a massive _bruise_-- Daine looks at the Stormwing with dull irritation and unpleasant surprise.

Barzha does not look impressed by her ire, and Daine can smell, now, the tang of Stormwing-magic where the queen has cut her. Hebakh has the grace to explain what his mate will not, or perhaps does not think is worth explaining.

"It's a spell to energize you briefly-- we use it when we must undertake flights that tax even us." There's still a hint of Stormwing superiority underneath the sketchy explanation, and Daine notes that he doesn't elaborate on what exactly constitutes a flight that would tax an Immortal.

"I believe your human mages, with the _Gift_, can do something similar," Hebakh concludes, shrugging awkwardly. It's a motion that Rikash really pulls off much better, steel wings aside, and Daine feels a pang in her stomach when she looks at his now-flightless form. She can't imagine he'll react well to it when he wakes up.

Still, whatever Barzha cast on her really must be some kind of recovery spell, because Daine's starting to feel a bit better. A bit more capable of hauling unconscious ex-Stormwings around, too, which was probably the queen's intent in the first place. Reminded of the task at hand, Daine sighs, then bends down to hook one of Rikash's arms over her uninjured shoulder.

It's going to be a long, _painful_ walk to Sir Raoul's camp, she thinks.

* * *

The excruciating process of getting back to her friends is worth it, of course, even if she does attract quite a bit of unwanted attention. She supposes it's her own fault for stumbling in (naked) with a (naked) supposedly-dead, now non-Immortal ally, but it can't really be helped. Daine does wish she'd gotten Barzha and Hebakh to go ahead and warn the camp that they were coming, but then, it's hardly done, asking royalty to run errands. 

What little energy Barzha's spell has lent her is used up by the time Daine reaches the camp.

With understandably little ceremony, Daine limps into the healer's tent, where the Lioness has just finished healing what appears to be a soldier with a concussion. Tortall's champion, normally unshakeable, is nonplussed by her entrance, and probably for good reason. Daine can _feel_ the blood and dirt and sweat encrusting her, manky and just plain _gross_, and she knows Rikash, still slung over her shoulder, isn't much better.

Still, she can't help blushing to her scalp, feeling _soul_-naked under that amethyst stare.

"Hello, Sir Alanna," is all she has time to say, dizzily, and then she topples over, facefirst.

She was right about that walk, after all.

* * *

Daine doesn't remember much of her fever-dreams, except that they seem to involve quite a bit of her shouting at gods _(at the sidelines, her parents look alternately impressed and mortified)_. There's quite a bit of the badger's laughter as well, warm and vibrant, and it keeps her feet grounded while she wages her verbal war with Mithros and the Goddess and even the Graveyard Hag, a war for... for... for something she can no longer remember. 

What is clearest in her memory is the sensation of her parents hugging her almost mournfully, and the badger fondly nosing her hand. She thinks her mother whispers something about Numair, but before she can ask her to repeat it, she is suddenly, unpleasantly thrust back into consciousness.

* * *

Daine's body feels twice as worse when she wakes up at last, not the least because it had been so _peaceful_ and _painless_ in her sleep. As expected, no one's particularly happy with the fact that she's gotten herself into such a state, but it says something about their level of respect and concern that nothing short of the best healers have been set to watch her, including Sir Alanna and Duke Baird. Much to her dismay, however, she's kept strictly on a diet of nearly-fluid cuisine, and it's only after a day of intense discomfort that she thinks to ask after Rikash. 

Baird, who is with her at the time, is silent at first, but at last gives her a noncommittal response. He is not in charge of the Stormwing's health, apparently, and while he has set healers to keep an eye on him, the fact that he seems perfectly fit aside from being unconscious puts him rather low on their list of priorities.

He has, Baird says, been unconscious for three days now-- the same as Daine. But he has not yet woken up.

The girl is quiet for a moment, and then she asks where Rikash is being held.

Baird, distracted by whatever train of thought her initial question has led him to, answers readily.

It's a testament to how explosively Daine can move, and how quickly she heals, that he barely manages to catch her before she plows straight out the tentflap, purple-red with rage. She did _not_ spend all that effort hauling that pitiful remnant of Stormwing meat over to their camp just to see him die _again_, this time from neglect, and she tells Baird as much. Her litany is, of course, peppered with enough colorful invectives to sting the ears of everyone in the vicinity, and Daine catches sight of a stony-faced Barzha and Hebakh wheeling above the camp before Baird manages to pull her back inside.

Daine eventually gets the promise that _yes,_ Rikash will be seen to, but for the moment, she'll have to be seen to herself, and she forces herself to be content with that. She does, however, insist on being moved into the same quarters as Rikash, a request that makes Baird and Alanna look at each other and Raoul's eyebrows twitch faintly.

In the end, they accede to their demands, and it's not long before Daine is supervising Rikash's upkeep from a bed across the tent from him. The healers bear her impertinent command and interjectiosn with a remarkable amount of grace, understanding that it's Daine's only means of feeling at least marginally useful in this place, with one arm nearly immobile in a splint and ribs bound in what feels like corset-like tightness. What's really getting to her is not the physical immobility, of course, but the sheer drain on her mind that the past few days have been. Whenever they can get away with it, they slip sleeping drugs into her food, forcing her into rest that she personally wants as little to do with as possible, but which _they_ know she desperately needs.

And Rikash?

Rikash sleeps.

* * *

On the third day since she's been in any shape to tend to her stubbornly unconscious charge, Alanna finally, reluctantly tells Daine the news she's been dreading to hear. 

They think it was a bandit, she says, after the battle. Scavenging. He must have com across him, and... The Lioness trails off, seeming to cringe with the very ignonimy of the death she describes. Perhaps in a way, it is the manner of the death which hurts her more than the knowledge of who has died: she could have, would have handled it better if her friend's murderer had been a powerful one, one worth taking revenge on.

One who could have won against Numair when he was at his full strength, not drained and bleeding after spell after spell.

Daine surprises herself by not crying, although she's not sure why it should be a thing that astonishes her. She's been subjected to the very real prospect of Numair's death quite a number of times already; she's certainly never entertained the notion that the man was _invincible_. She knows that Alanna's watching her for some kind of reaction, though, and she blinks weakly, head bobbing as she searches for a focus.

She finds it in Rikash's matted blond hair, its tips still tangled in fingerbones that no one has found prudent to remove. Her gaze travels down to his face, and the sight is a comforting one; human or not, awake or not Rikash is still Rikash, and she thinks she can still see a trace of his devil-may-care grin around the slack corners of his mouth. She can almost hear his lazy drawl, poking fun at her numb, pallid face, and Daine blinks slowly.

Numair is dead, and Rikash is not. She cannot help but wonder if, by saving one, she has unwittingly doomed the other.

It would not be correct to say that Alanna is relieved when Daine finally bends over and quietly, fiercely begins to sob.

But it is close.

* * *

HUBBA HUBBA I'M DONE. Well, for this part, at least. The chapter title is The End, naturally, because as far as we're concerned, it's my version of the wrap-up to _The Realms of the Gods_. Note how cheerfully I gloss the godbit over, because I can't remember how it went!

Please don't stone me for killing Numair off. shiftyeyes Is it the easy way of writing him out of the equation? Oh yes, totally so. Do I regret it? Not really, aside from the fact that it reconfirms that I'm too much of a wussy writer to be able to handle more than one pair of characters interacting at a time.

Anyway, I really didn't want to deal with the complicated morass that encapsulates all that is Numair/Daine. I used to love that pairing quite a lot, so I'm not sure what really happened. laughs I guess my tastes changed.

Next time Rikash is actually going to be conscious, really.

Any form of feedback is, of course, appreciated. This story is more of an experiment than anything else; I'm remarkably bad at writing snark, and I'm hoping this will give me a chance to work on that. No guarantees of success, of course. :P

(Idly, I'm very, very bad at capturing character voices, so I'm terribly sorry if the dialogue grates on you, ahahaha. I'm already aware that the Stormwings this chapter haven't been given the voices they probably deserve.)


	2. Chapter 2: The Widening Gyre

There's no real excuse for how late this is (or how little Rikash it actually has!), but I figured I might as well post it up and get it out of the way. Cough. Longer, more rambling author's notes on the story have been tacked on the bottom for those interested, but otherwise, I'll stop blathering now. :D

* * *

**Chapter the Second: The Widening Gyre**

Numair's gone. 

The girl tells herself this, firmly; as though saying it again and again will make it any more real, will quash the guilty half-hope that somehow, perhaps, Numair has _survived_. No, Daine has no time for speculations or wild hopes: the most pressing matter right now, and the only thing she's currently capable of doing, is to figure out how to deal with the Stormwing-turned-man that has (as such things seem to have a tendency to do) fallen into her care. It's a task that isn't made easier by the fact that he's still dead to the world. There's only so much she can do until he finally regains consciousness.

_If_ he regains consciousness.

Daine's nights and days are mostly spent at Rikash's bedside, waiting for him to wake up. It's not as though she can do much else; she's been firmly warned off trying to heal any animals, and confined to the tent for good measure. When they can, her friends-- all her friends, not just the ones that walk on two legs-- come to offer awkward conversation and sympathetic clucking for the condition she's gotten herself into. The pointed avoidance of topics such as the half-stranger on the bed and a certain recently-deceased friend is so blatant that her nerves always feel rubbed raw after such visits, and her temper shortens with every day.

Of course, from her perspective, Daine thinks she's due a little irritation, but not everyone agrees-- one squirrel scampers up her shoulder to rap her forehead sharply, questioning the state of decay of the brain within, after she lets loose a particularly snippy remark. The scolding prompts instant contrition on her part, of course, and manages to put a damper on her seething resentment for the day.

She admits that she's probably being just a little too unfair to her friends.

Once, Daine thought that taking such exaggerated care around the recently bereft was daft, but now that she's on the receiving end of that unasked-for kindness, she thinks she's beginning to see it in a different light. She appreciates that she's been given time to sort out her thoughts for herself; when she looks back on it, she realizes that she's never had this much time to brood on anything like this. Daine's beginning to wonder if it's for the better or worse.

While avoiding mention of Numair is understandable, even courteous, having people pretend that the unconscious man laid out in in Daine's tent doesn't exist is another thing altogether. She finds herself tired of it. She has fought Immortals with these people, demonstrated the mastery of her wild magic on more than one occasion, even managed to bring down a rogue king-mage, and they yet believe her incapable of dealing with something as relatively straightforward as this. At least the animals are franker about their opinions on the matter: one slightly-tatty looking sparrow that lingers after his flock has left tells her in no uncertain terms that he doesn't think much of helping the Stormwing, and if it were left up to _him_...

Daine listens in amusement as the sparrow lists some inventively painful-sounding methods of shortening Rikash's lifespan, but politely declines to take him up on the offer. Rikash is, after all, a friend.

_You don't have very good taste in friends,_ the sparrow sniffs haughtily, flipping up his tail in unconscious disdain. It's not something she's seen sparrows do normally, and she wonders if this particular one has by some chance run into Quickmunch and picked up some ill habits. It wouldn't surprise her at all.

_That's as may be, but you'll kindly notice that he's not the one telling me to bash folk's heads in with rocks and sink them into the river,_ Daine points out dryly. The bird doesn't have the grace or the capacity to flush, but he concedes her point. The tone of his voice makes Daine think that, had he been human, he'd be making a face at her the moment her back turned on him.

_At least he can't fly anymore,_ the sparrow concludes, apparently his way of coming to terms with the situation. _So long as he's not going to be eating my nestlings, I don't care if he's alive or not._ Before Daine can respond, he propels himself off her shoulder and out of the tent flap, calling for the rest of his flock.

* * *

Even the badger drops by a couple of times _(she's never sure if she's awake or not, but she knows by now that he's certainly real enough)_ to force his blunt, striped head under her palms for petting, humming reassurance that the Divine Realm's opinion of her is not, in fact, unanimously negative. When Daine confesses that she has not even the faintest memory of what exactly it was she might have done to offend the gods, the badger laughs, long and loud enough that she almost fears that he'll wake the entire camp up. 

He doesn't, of course, since he's speaking only for her ears. When he finally stops, he gives her an almost-smile and tells her that everything will turn out all right, even if the two-legger gods think otherwise.

Daine can't think of anything to say to this, and the badger grunts in something like approval. She's learnt to listen to her elders at last, he remarks-- or at least, pretend that she's listening, and that's a useful enough skill.

When she takes a moment to blink, he's gone.

* * *

Onua comes to the tent a week after the battle, and the first thing the horsewoman does is take Daine into her arms-- mindful of the splinted arm-- and gives her a fierce, almost angry hug around her shoulders. 

When the older woman pulls away, she's wiping the moisture furiously from her eyes with bandaged hands. "Oh, Daine," she murmurs, sounding strangely lost. "Oh my dear girl, you've certainly gotten yourself into all sorts of trouble now, haven't you."

The smile on Daine's face feels curiously frozen, caught between the joy at seeing her former mentor and the dismay at seeing her in such obvious distress. She settles for relaxing into a more neutral expression, eyes blinking wide as if she cannot imagine what Onua could possibly be worried about.

"I'm fine, Onua," she mutters, shifting on the cot with something like her old teenage embarrassment. There are some people she'll always feel like a bashful, thumbtwiddling teenager to, no matter how long she's known them. "I'm fine."

The look Onua gives her in return is enough to make her wince, but as someone who has worked with animals for most of her life, Onua knows when to take a hint from physical cues alone. Her hands squeeze Daine's shoulders one more time before they drop away, and she turns to face the other side of the tent, arms akimbo at the sight of Rikash laid out flat.

"Horse gods, but he certainly _has_ changed, hasn't he?" she declares, loudly--Daine can't remember an occasion where the horsewoman and the Stormwing have spoken, but she's certain she's mentioned him to her more than once. The time in Carthak had given her plenty of stories to share when she returned to Carthak, both good and ill alike.

Onua's looking at her curiously, and Daine realizes that she's been starting to drift off. "Sorry-- what was that?"

"I asked," the woman says, feigning offense, "If he's really human now. No wings, obviously," she waves a hand vaguely at the other cot, "But I mean, is he human-- really human? Can bleed and cry and pi--"

"Yes." The girl is familiar with this litany from time spent with Buri, who possesses a mouth that would put half of the sailors in the king's navy to shame, so she cuts it off before it can get to the lewder descriptions. "But we don't know... how much he his. Human, I mean. He hasn't woken up yet." she shrugs, letting her fingers wrap into the sheets.

The horsewoman stares contemplatively at the man on the bed a moment longer before she turns back to fully face Daine, quirking a brow. "Are you sure that you want him to?"

She blinks in return. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't imagine he'll be happy about his current circumstances, when he's in a proper state to understand them," Onua muses. "That's all. Stormwings don't like anything unpredicted, in my experience."

"He's different." Daine thinks of steel wings and faces twisted in hate; mouths that spill insults and furious queens ready to kill for the sake of the slightest offense. "I think he'll be fine."

The look Onua gives her is unreadable.

"I hope so."

* * *

Unconscious, Rikash's face is as placid as a stagnant pond, smooth tranquility with a worrying hint of scum beginning to creep in on the edges. It takes a few days for Daine to realize that this is not just a subconscious impression her mind is attempting to superimpose on her; Rikash actually _is_ starting to look a little grubby, and it's not for a lack of care. The healers generally keep him clean with the occasional sponge bath, and if her arm wasn't in the way, Daine would be helping. (Between her da and Numair, it's not as if the sight of large, naked men ever _fazes_ her anymore.) 

Rikash's looks are taking a distinct turn for the worse, and Daine begins to realize that this is in part to blame on the copious growth of dark blonde stubble over his jaw and upper lip. She doesn't know whether to be amused or not-- when she thinks on it, she doesn't know why the idea of a Stormwing (former or not) with a beard is an odd one. Even Ozorne had sported one of copious length done up in elaborate beads, though it had been singed multiple times since he'd become an Immortal. She's also seen other Stormwings sporting modest, well-trimmed goatees.

So really, Daine isn't certain why the sight of Rikash with (gods forbid) _facial hair_ is such an uncomfortable one. Maybe it's simply because it reminds her too sharply of another fondly-remembered face she's seen covered in unflattering stubble, though she doesn't know how she can even find enough common ground to compare the two. Beyond the virtue of the fact that their features are-- were-- unmistakeably male, Rikash and Numair's faces were nothing alike.

Among other things, Numair had eyelashes like one of Onua's favorite ponies, long and dark and quick to flutter coyly for a treat; with his eyes closed, Rikash's lashes disappear against his skin, but Daine remembers them illuminated by the half-dusk light of the Divine Realms' sun, shimmering like tiny fans of gold. Numair's mouth was broad and expressive, quick to smile or frown, but even in sleep, the corners of Rikash's mouth are lined from years-- maybe centuries-- of life.

In the end, she realizes, that's what makes her uneasy: for what may be the first time since she's met him, Rikash looks his age, and that means _centuries_.

That particular epiphany seems to make her mind up for her, and the next morning, while she's getting her bandages checked, she asks one of the healers for a basin of warm water and a shaving razor. She gets an askance, concerned look for a moment, and she doesn't understand _why_ until she realizes there must be something more than slightly suspect about a half-crazed wild girl asking for a blade. Once she clarifies her request, it's granted, if with some reticience.

"I don't know that he needs it," the healer murmurs as she passes the razor over, frowning at the lean man stretched out under the coarse linen they've settled on for sheets. "He's not exactly in a state to care about it, is he?" She waves a hand through the air, miming something that could be unconsciousness or constipation, for all Daine can see. "Not awake, and all."

"_I'm_ awake, and _I_ care," Daine says firmly, taking the razor in hand and flicking it through the faintly-steaming water in the basin, wetting its edge. "And I'm the one who has to stay in here and see his face the most," she adds. The joke falls a little flat, but it's enough to pry a rueful smile out of the healer, who gets to her feet and shuffles towards the tent flap.

"If you need anything more, you'll call, yes?"

"Yes," Daine responds, already examining the task at hand. Luckily for her, it's her left arm thats broken; still, this is going to be awkward without another hand with which to brace Rikash's face and chin upwards, prevent it from lolling around while she nicks at the stubble on his skin.

Unfortunately, it can't be helped.

She takes a breath and leans forward.

* * *

There are things worse than death. 

When Rikash opens his eyes, he knows he has found one of them.

* * *

If you haven't guessed already, updating for this fic will be s-l-o-w, since I a) have no idea where I'm going with this, b) procrastinate like a... like a very procrastinatey thing, yes, and Kingdom Hearts has _massively_ distracted me. : However, I must thank you all for the encouraging feedback so far. I'm more than ready to admit that I'm probably thoroughly shafting some of the characters in the characterization/screentime department, particularly when it comes to Daine and Numair, or more specifically, Daine re: Numair. 

I don't write mourning particularly well, and I keep imagining Daine's the sort of person who'd internalize things, given a chance. Or rather, that she's someone who'd get on with business even if she was deeply hurt. If I'm remembering Emperor Mage correctly (I'm probably not!) she went and leveled half the palace instead of crying over Numair's death. And when her family died, she ran off with the wolves! So there's no real precedent as to how Daine mourns, I suppose, aside from the general idea that she doesn't mope around about it. But that's just me guessing, there. XD

I have a feeling the prose this chapter is loaded with way too many technical, detached-sounding words, which isn't really what I was going for -- but oh, well.


End file.
